A SEAMAN’S NARRATIVE.
In the way of a seaman, he told the narrative of the night spent in the little boat, comforting as best he could the women who did not realize as he did that some of them had looked upon their loved ones for the last time.
“My watch was from 8 to 12 o’clock,” said Hichens. “From 8 to 10 o’clock I was the stand-by man, and from 10 to 11 o’clock I had the wheel. When I was at the stand-by it was very dark, and, while it was not dark, there was a haze. I cannot say about the weather conditions after 10 o’clock, for I went into the wheelhouse, which is enclosed.
“The second officer was the junior watch officer from 8 to 10 o’clock, and at 8 o’clock he sent me to the carpenter with orders for him to look after the fresh water, as it was going to freeze.
“The thermometer then read 31½ degrees, but so far as could be seen there was no ice in sight. The next order was from the second officer for the deck engineer to turn the steam on in the wheelhouse, as it was getting much colder. Then the second officer, Mr. Loteheller, told me to telephone the lookout in the crow’s nest.
“‘Tell them,’ he said, ‘to keep a sharp and strict lookout for small ice until daylight and to pass the word along to the other lookout men.’
“I took the wheel at 10 o’clock, and Mr. Murdock, the first officer, took the watch. It was 20 minutes to 12 and I was steering when there were the three gongs from the lookout, which indicated that some object was ahead.
“Almost instantly, it could not have been more than four or five seconds, when the lookout men called down on the telephone, ‘Iceberg ahead!’ Hardly had the words come to me when there was a crash.
“I ain’t likely to forget, sir, how the crash came. There was a light grating on the port bow, then a heavy crash on the port bow, then a heavy crash on the starboard side. I could hear the engines stop, and the lever closing the watertight emergency doors.